


Doom & Gloom

by subsonicspeeds



Category: Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Drinking, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Slurs, Smoking, Spiraling Thoughts, Unreliable Narrator, Unrequited Love, you know how it be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:20:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23068375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/subsonicspeeds/pseuds/subsonicspeeds
Summary: Things don't always go as planned, and our buried thoughts get the best of us.
Relationships: Maxim "Kapkan" Basuda/Alexsandr "Tachanka" Senaviev
Comments: 5
Kudos: 32





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _  
>  [I'll have to leave just as soon as the colors begin to fade.  
>  I'll run away before lying to you becomes natural.  
>  What I had in mind was what you held against me.  
> ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xk81p1t6q64)   
>  _

It was stupid. So  _ stupid _ . Why had he even gone through with it? He knew the consequences and now here he was, sitting in the dark of his apartment living room, drinking his sorrows away. The bottle of vodka stared back at him, taunting him every time he looked down. It was about half empty, having been new earlier in the evening. He had bought it, hoping that the night would've gone well and he could've shared it with the man he cared so deeply for.

Maxim lit a cigarette, his hands shaking and dying for a drag. This whole situation was  _ bullshit  _ and there was nothing he could do to change it. He just wanted to escape for now. Pretend that it hadn't happened. It didn't take long for him to become filled with rage at this entire situation. His hands were shaking as he tried to keep taking hits off his cigarette, but it ended up being futile and not calming his nerves at all. He ended up pressing the smoke into the ashtray in front of him, letting it fizzle out in front of him. “Fuck you.” He whispered, grabbing the bottle and taking hardy swigs from it. “Could've had this. We could've been doing so much together.” Growling to himself, Maxim slammed the bottle on the table once more.

“But no. You said  _ oh, fuck Maxim. Little faggot has nothing worthwhile. I'm surrounded by everything that I could ever want.”  _ He gave a pained laugh at his own dismay, staring down at the floor. It wasn't what he had said at all, but with how much pain he was in, he might as well have. “Well we can't all be like you! Some of us are stuck living lives we don't fucking  _ want to!” _ It was shit like this that made Maxim enjoy his usual solitude, being off the grid and hunting. Just him and the wild. He never brought any of his Spetsnaz buddies with him on those excursions, it would ruin the thrill, having people with you.

He wished he could be out on a hunt right now. But it was late at night and he had more than half a bottle of vodka resting in his stomach. Maxim took the bottle again and brought it to his lips, trying to finish off the rest of it. There was no point in trying to save the shit. He could just simply drink it and fall asleep, dreaming of what could have been if the night played out differently. If Lera hadn't been let in, maybe this wouldn't have happened. “Who am I kidding? He hates people like me.” His mind was racing and he couldn't stop it. Were all these assumptions wrong? Probably, and he knew it in the moment too. He just couldn't bring himself to stop it. “Whatever. I can find more people. Better people.” As much as he tried to force that into his head... it never stuck. He had invested so much into this far fetched daydream and now he was paying the price for living in a fantasy world.

Perhaps Maxim was too clingy. Showing how he cared too much, and that probably disgusted him in the end. He just wanted to make sure he was okay. To let him know that he cared. Perhaps it was just too much. As his thoughts spiraled, clawing desperately for an answer that was too complex for him to reach, he chugged more of the vodka. Chugged it dry, in reality. There wasn't a drop left.

An image manifested in his head, of him and Lera sitting together, pressed together on a couch and being all too friendly with each other. Meanwhile he was sitting in the dark, reeking of smoke and alcohol, throwing a tantrum over what could never be his.  _ Why _ couldn't it be his? Had he not suffered enough? He just wanted to experience something so simple, that so many people take for granted. The world was against him, and he was sick of it. When would he get something in return? Instead of having everything taken from him. 

“You're a piece of shit, Alexsandr!” Maxim roared into the dark, jumping to his feet and holding onto the bottle of vodka. His grip was unbelievably tight on the neck of it. He finally snapped, his brain unable to contain his desire to just  _ scream  _ any longer. “Couldn't have just given me a chance, huh?!  _ Ты педик!” _ With the slur came him smashing the bottle against the wall. It reverberated throughout the entire apartment, and it seemed to calm Maxim down. “You're going to be the death of me.” Sounding defeated, he slowly brought himself back down onto the couch. “I can't just let go, huh?” Mumbling, he slid down, then turned onto his side to just lay down.

“You're all that's on my mind, and I can't help but wonder what we could have been.”


	2. The Jiggler

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kapkan pays for being an unreliable narrator.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This wasn't meant to be a direct continuation, but I decided it'd work half way through. Guess I can justify it by saying they're both technically songfics off the same album.  
> [The Jiggler by Dance Gavin Dance](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HmjtnjTvgoo)

_Turn your camera on,_

_You don't wanna miss this._

Forest walks were a tradition for the Spetsnaz. Once a week they'd get up early and decide on a path to take, whether it'd be hunting or just something relaxing… It would be decided when they'd get there.

Shuhrat and Timur hadn't shown up, much to Alexsandr’s confusion. Shuhrat not arriving wasn't entirely surprising… It took a lot to get him to join in on their antics, so it was a reoccurring thing that he just wouldn't show. But Timur? He was normally the first to arrive. Perhaps he slept in, or just forgot. That just left him and Maxim.

It was not… the most ideal group currently.

_Snap._ Alexsandr pressed the button, giving it a moment before letting the film spit out the bottom. Digital cameras didn't give the same satisfaction as the polaroids of his youth. But, it was the only sound made by either of the two since their walk began. Maxim had just brought it to his attention by nudging him.

_The way lighting shifts_

_As it reflects off the water._

It was a simple scene, the snow was dusted over the trees. The birds taking off from the branches caused enough shaking to knock much of the snow off, and Alexsandr had hoped he timed it just right. And all the way in the back? It was the lake they always insisted at stopping by. It was that time of year, where it could be frozen over, but it was just warm enough where there was snow and the lake was free from any sort of icy grips.

It was almost beautiful.

_Below this sinking ship,_

_I feel your fingertips, slipping away._

Any chance of beauty it had was lost, and instead as the picture developed in the chilly air, just filled him with a sense of dread.

Alexsandr hadn't looked at Maxim the entire time. He couldn't bring himself to. Not after a great night turned so volatile. 

“Have you… Do you know where Glazkov is?”

“Sick.”

_Can't shake the feeling now,_

_How far we've fallen down._

_Like our best days are behind us._

There was no ignoring it. Everything had changed. The words that had been shared between the two. The thoughts that had been racing through Maxim’s head as he sat in the dark of his apartment. 

Shit would never be the same, and Maxim was trying to come to grips with it. He kept his gaze on the ground as he walked, more interested in the prints his feet made than this entire outing. But he was hoping Alexsandr wasn't going to show up. That maybe Shuhrat would for once, and the two could just hang out and smoke around the trail.

Speaking of smokes, he reached into his own pocket and fished for the pack and lighter. The moment he pulled it out, a large hand came into his vision and yanked them away. “They're going to kill you.”

The absolute audacity of this man.

“These will kill me quicker than this stupid trip of ours.” Snatching them back, there was clear hostility in all of his actions. “What do you care anyway?”

“We're comrades. All four of us. We need to care about each other, otherwise we'll just use one another as meat shields.” The absolute _fucking_ audacity of this made him snap.

_You're the revisionist,_

_And I'm the narcissist, drifting away._

“I can’t be like you, Sasha. I can't just ignore this disgust between us. So just shut up and realize everything is fucked.” That easily shut Alexsandr up, leaving Maxim with the last laugh. Literally. He snorted as he reached into the pack of cigarettes and put one between his lips.

The silence continued even as they stopped to let Maxim smoke and take in the scenery of the lake. He could feel his nerves loosen up, and just a small bit of stress left his body. Alexsandr had no choice but to stand there, back against a tree and have his eyes bore into the back of Maxim’s skull. Until he finally gave up on letting him act like this. “You take everything the wrong way.”

If he didn't have good control over his hands, Maxim would've dropped his cigarette right there. “How?” He snapped back, still keeping his back to him. “Admitting something like that, then the only response being _педик?_ Enlighten me.”

“You used to say it all the time, in good spirits. I thought there was no harm in calling you one.” Alexsandr was confused when it all happened, watching Maxim’s face drop with hurt before turning around and leaving without another word. “It's not like you gave me much time to justify myself, either.”

Whipping his head around, he just glared at Alexsandr. “How the fuck would you feel if you told me something serious, and then just threw slurs at you?” The night was a blur for him, and he was already partially drunk when he had asked him out. It was the only way he could bring himself to do it.

“I'm stronger than you, in that sense.”

“Just shut up. You just make everything worse.”

“Let me _explain._ ” Stomping forward, he grabbed Maxim by the shoulder and spun him around. “I thought it was light hearted. You were so shitfaced that there was no thinking for you. Just reacting.”

“I only had a couple shots, I was fucking _fine._ ” He pulled himself away, two seconds from just throwing his lit cigarette at Alexsandr.

“Quit lying to yourself. A couple shots, perhaps, but you weren't acting right. Will you let me _answer_ finally or will you just run away from what you fear again?”

There was just silence, and Maxim stared at the ground again. He couldn't even recall the scene properly, he only knew that it happened. He couldn't remember what room they were in, who else was there, or how Alexsandr said it. Just the event itself.

“I wouldn't have minded giving it a shot. It's not something I had ever tried. But with how you're acting now? I am hesitant. You're not as composed as you always claim to be.” All Maxim could do was stand there now, shocked in this new revelation. He fucked up, and Alexsandr was not a man to easily forgive. “And the texts you sent? If you even remember those.” The… the what? Reaching for his phone, he felt Alexsandr’s eyes stare into the very depths of his soul. “Go on, look.” He didn't want to, but he knew he needed to face his actions.

Opening their messages, all he saw was blue. Message upon message from just himself, some in Russian and some in English. They were misspelled and overall sloppily composed. Accusing him of hating him, sleeping with Lera, and countless other things. _Fuck._ He was left speechless, and he could feel triumph radiating from the other man. “I can't justify these. I… I'm sorry, Sasha.” His chances were beyond fucked, and he was at fault.

“That's a step in the right direction.” There was a pause, before he decided to continue. “I'll do my part and apologize. That shouldn't have been my first word, and I'll keep that in mind.” The air was settling down, and Alexsandr put his hand on Maxim's back and rubbed circles into it, before gently nudging him forward to keep walking. “We'll have to sit here and lick our wounds like dogs, but they will fade soon. Perhaps some scars will be left behind, but they too will lose meaning.”

Maxim rolled his eyes. “When will you stop speaking cryptically?”

“Once I die, perhaps.” There was a good chuckle between the two, before Maxim finally decided to clear it up.

“What does all of this mean, then?” His question was hesitant, not sure if he was asking too soon.

“It can mean whatever you want.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Feel the hangover in my mind,  
>  But this one's a different kind.  
> Losing touch with my concept of time.  
> _

**Author's Note:**

> _  
>  [Before you decide that this is dated,  
>  Take me out of the equation.  
>  What was it that you most hated?  
>  All the time that you spent waiting.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xk81p1t6q64)   
>  _


End file.
